Maftet and Lessons of Petty Divisions

summerly-noon-temple“People dear worshipped here, once upon a time; drinking the fine wine of fellowship,” Maftet spoke softly in the haunted old courtyard of once-vaunted temple. “Women, men and children; fathers, mothers, and sisters, brothers all; simple poor and those who stood tall in unity of community.” She ran fingers over one lingering wall, browned dark and dank, yet not cast down, but no longer part of crown achievement of city dead, now raising pity rather than praise.

“What happened here to make this place so drear,” I wondered allowed as an hundred questions flew thru my mind in like kind as I drew near my patroness-protector.

“The young and new wanted to cast out the old, but so soon as they’d begun the old grew bold; and the last song sung here was broken by tears,” Maftet answered. “The malefactors continued the fight against the old dogs’ bite, but most grew weary and it was then this magnificent place grew dreary. . . Death hung heavy in the air ~ the levy of schism ~ and evil laid bare the ill-intentions of darkened hearts. . . Unity fled and the community bled; then was no more.”

“Then do these stones not face the world now as a monument of disgrace?”

Maftet turned; fire burned in her eyes. “More than monument of disgrace, but an edifice of learning for any but fools; here are tools for teaching how reaching too far, too deeply, too soon can bring destruction at the noontime of any community.” She began to walk as she continued to talk. “Thy young say to the old, ‘Get out of the way,’ and the elders strive to hold them at bay, but then all devolves into dismay!”

“Tell me, please, who was right in your sight?”

“Ah!” She slipped her hand round my waist band. “Both were right, and both were wrong; both lacked sight, and both were weak, not strong. Enmity grew and lead to calamity that will ne’er be forgot in all eternity. . . And all over such trifling matters; all the clatter of fools with their endless prattle. Then came the clatter of sword and shield, for neither side would yield, and in yonder plain half were slain.”

And so it was that we were standing, hand in hand, not only in ancient ruins . . . but in the graveyard of what once was community ~ the hard reality pressing in on me that many such cemeteries exist as the living still persist in trifles and petty disputes. I was mute.

 

Kheba: Work, Wheat, and the Way of Life

inanna-goddessMagnificent Uruk lay in impotent ruin, but survivors were stout with no doubt the grandiloquent city would be rebuilt, and just as great, even more so; taunting bait for fleeing Watchers. Kheba led me through ruined streets to the beat of hammers and other tools already steady at work in reconstruction — no, more than this, complete resurrection — and she seemed undaunted by the surrounding destruction; it was little more than an ageless function of life.

I chanced a glance at the Temple of Innana and wondered would she so much as rain manna from heaven to feed her devotees in such apparent need … or was there such sin as divine greed? “Ah, so evil seed was planted by the witch-bitch, and despite your redemption and respite, there it remains to be uprooted ere it grows to stain your newly washed soul,” Kheba firmly answered my thought as she brought me closer. “Do not be caught by foul lies that fly around you and abound in this world, dear one; not all is as it seems, and the light still streams in and through the dark, stark though it may be… But come; see.”

Kheba led me past many workers, some of whom so recently bled, and pointed to an old woman with folds of cloth, weaving and patching, retrieving from tattered and blood-splattered shreds blankets for beds, shrouds for heads, cloaks and coats. “There is my sister, Cybele, minister to her people, who honor her under yon steeple as Innana.”

I had to wonder in amazement and, yes, express my blunder: “Cybele? Working cloth? Is she god or moth?” Kheba laughed, while the old woman winked; I blinked. “But so much more could be done! Why has she not begun? Before sets the sun, she could have the whole of this work done! Or does Dyēus shun the desperate cries of his people reaching high into his heavenly skies?”

Kheba continued steering me on while peering into my eyes. “What surprise how you turn so quickly from my sister, Cybele, to blister our father with such ignorant accusations… No matter for now; perhaps you should wait for more persuasion; I have occasion to show you more, for much more is in store to show with no evasion. Come.” And what else could I do but heed her lead; I followed my lover under cover of mystery and profusion of confusion, still questioning why gods would trod the earth doing no more to restore embattled and oft-trampled humanity.

“In every age you’ll find the self-styled sage, who doubts and causes others to bout with doubt,” Kheba continued as we passed through the rubble and shambles of the marketplace at an eerie pace, as if taking some leisurely walk among placid flock of bleating sheep, in plains of grain… “Yes, precisely where we are going, and quite nicely.” She smiled knowing without showing any disdain. “It is in the midst of life you find Life, and this Life is wife of Dyēus and mother of us all — even his daughters, the Tri-Mater — and this Life is that bright Light that blight of darkness cannot overcome nor even begin to plumb.”

Kheba2aAnd we existed the East Gate for me to feast my eyes of fields of gold untold. Kheba urged me forward into field to purge my soul in beauty once again. “We begin again … and again and again, we begin; yet never in dominance. Dyēus determined to give humanity prominence, you see, and he will be true to his word.” She held me close to her side, this time as gently as a rose. “Here is life… Life in life, from Life herself, for Life is life-giving, and this Life is Light and Love from above.” She looked deep into my soul to keep me whole, and I was suddenly fully awake for her sake alone.

“You see the readied harvest to farthest distance; this is the work of my Cybele, my treasure and pleasure beyond measure.” Kheba smiled in obvious pride as we eyed the gently swaying gold that would feed numbers untold. “Yet there are skeptics here, too; spiritual epileptics, mental derelicts.” She slightly buckled in light chuckle. “They say, ‘Prove! Prove! Prove!’ And no, but we reprove.” Kheba laughed again. “They ask for proof; we give reproof… After all, they have eyes but do not see, ears but do not hear, and minds they bind in prideful thread from spool of fools. Look around!” She shouted. “And you are bound to see the tree! Listen, and hear the cheer of Life! Ah! They are faced with the divine every moment, but too debased to know what Dyēus is content to show every moment for their sheer enjoyment! Is this not so?”

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Hold Me Tight; Give Me Might

Hold me tight;
I need to cry in your arms tonight.
Give me might;
Drive far away from me all fright.

Please, love me;
Unchain me in your heart to be free.
Now look and see;
Open your ears and hear my sad plea.

The journey has been long; this man is weary. Now again, I’ve found where I belong, and song is sung along with throng of angels; no eerie silence in wasted land for dæmons in fury to bury me. Clearly this beleaguered man has made it home, if indeed home is where the heart is, then I have the whole and not in part. Did you not care for me from the start?

Gather me in;
Let my soul rest and being again.
Forget all sin;
Redemption won, I’m now no bane.

Kheba, ever stay;
And never again make me fly away!
Kheba, ever stay;
Let us travel as one in life’s way.
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Gracious Hand; Exit the Sand

IsaOne hand reached across the sand. Hand with hole in wrist, and I could not resist. Hand to hand to assist; no longer could I persist to insist upon my own demise no matter how much my life I did despise. The disappearance of Bast and sudden appearance of another was quite a surprise, but welcome. No face could I see in my debased estate, but I knew as fresh wind blew that here was one who could offer something anew. I grasped the hand without demand; there was no reprimand but only kind command, “Arise! Be gone with the lies, and claim your prize of life without compromise! It is yours, though you still be oh-so unwise.”

Phantasmal range of change.

Verdant green. Soft bed of grass. Scene of beauty. Lake of crystalline glass.

I opened my eyes to clear, blue skies. Skies above rolling hills to still my heart. Yet stain of remorse; pain of guilt remained, though I strained to forget.

“You need not live with regret,” spoke shadowy figure. “I’ve set your feet again upon the way you may walk; for you this is your new day… Rest here for awhile, but do not stay.” Eyes of soft brown, shimmering crown of thorns. “I do not reprimand; there is no more demand upon your soul, but the hole is for you to fill at will … if you will.” Very still in his presence I offered no resistance, and I seemed to understand, and deemed this One most worthy to heed; this One who even now seemed to fill my need … my need of which I really knew nothing, as the Spirit of Life blew over and through the hillocks.

Reaching. Touching. He bade farewell to fade back into ethereal world somehow more real than reality; the immaterial more potent than the material … and could I comprehend? No. I could only pretend, and that I would not do, but ascend now in my journey again without feign of greatness — I had none — nor courage or wisdom; I’d really only begun. So under bright sun, I made my way to cool, clear pool of water abiding just off the side of celestial lake. Would these be the hills of my restoration, my own mount of transfiguration?

Suddenly I ripped my tattered clothes, stripped naked and like madman ran into the small sea now free of Bastian glee! I plunged myself down into refreshing water as if to drown the plight of previous night. Rolling, turning and churning, I made my way to the bottom and up again into bright light of sun. And I wept, and I kept weeping flood of tears mixed with blood. I plunged again and lunged forward in cleansing font — bathing, purging poison — with nothing to haunt me here; no one to taunt. I was free again to be me … or, at least, to begin to be the me I could now begin to see. And the water felt as if this very element could be daughter of Dyēus.

This time I did not run. This time I swam and shouted, “I Am!”

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Long is the Night; Long the Road…

Long is the night to those for whom sleep doth fight; long and dreary the road to the weary; longer still is the cycle of life for those who live in strife … within and without, so rife with pain and no gain of peace in lease of time. Such was my frightful flight east away from beastly terror now marauding Uruk, stalking the countryside round about; the sound of such blight still floating on light wind, but I would not stop to bend knee, though free to pray. Kheba told me to stay the course, and though I may travel alone, an ill-suited fool-companion would only cavil and unravel my senses, lowering my heart and mind defenses, putting me in closer range of physical danger, as well…

But I’d reached the desert sand, where dæmon band could be heard clear as warped and twisted bird on this my third night of flight. My water skin was now dry — and did I try not to consider my thirst — but there would be water if only I could make it to yonder hills featherwhere lay still ponds and gentle brooks, or so it looked, if not an illusion born of my mind of confusion. No matter; I’d made my resolution from the revolution underway in my soul being purified by deprivation, new creation within; that is, the manifestation of determination and sobriety, of illumination and deadly-defiant piety.

Ah, but I was not alone; I knew, for the wind blew with the Spirit — mysterious, imperious, perhaps even deleterious, yet Source of Life — so yes, something was there to be with me. Something, or Someone, had always been but never seen. As an ancient sage of another age said, “hidden in keep of the deep! I do not know who begot this child nor if she is mild … but this, the same, came even before God!” Far older than the sod under my tortured feet plodding along the sanded heat that so nearly threatened my defeat. But would I bleat like some little lamb?

Oh, but damn the very thought! What a sham it would be, I boldly told myself. I’m not a lamb but man! Or to hell with it! Man to view; woman to few who know what I show from inside but try to hide? Does it matter? What fracking scatter of thought! I’m human, at least; not beast … but what? Even beast would not concede to dying without trying to live! The instinct for survival and revival is vital to the nature of every creature!

robe-desolate“Water … water … water from the daughter of Kheba… What could be wrong coming from one so strong?” the voice carried with ease on the gentle breeze. Enticing. Alluring. Seductive. Slicing through my senses. Impressively reassuring. Destructive. “Water … water … water you need to feed your strength lest at length you perish … and truly I cherish you.” Lies. Lies in angel guise. Snake eyes sharp to incise the unwise; to apprise the demise of desperate man; ready to baptize him in flood of his own thin blood. “Fear … you fear, my dear … fear you fear, not me, the one you do not see. Ah, but let me be your heart’s decree, and you will be free … free … free with me for whom you never sought, in liberty unbought, given freely with no thought … free to be what you really are … bright and shining star.” Not far from truth, I needed no proof from prophet, priest, or sayer of sooth; yet there was nothing to say but, too, I could not stay, though the hills still seemed so far away.

And So I Kept Walking…

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Note: Both illustrations stock photos/pictures free for public usage.

Kheba: Pages From Forgotten Ages IV

angel_of_fire_fallen_angel“Had it not been for the crystalline, ethereal swords afforded by the Tri-Mater, and their sons and daughters, we would all have been slaughtered, except for the hypnotized, demonized chosen by the Watchers, frozen by their power for their own treasure and pleasure,” Metuşelah spoke in tone as if reading from an ancient book, with distant look in his eyes. “My father, Henokh, fought early and bought victory with his own blood amid flood of torturous screams… Some of my sisters and brothers died; my own turn would come soon enough…”

We were now seated in the courtyard garden, replete with lush green and flowers and bowers of olden trees. Stone benches were hard on the bone, but I dared not complain of pain while hearing such soul-searing tale.

“Avhnipaala took me as husband — brooking all distinction; she could have had better — when she had command of hundreds; an exceptional band of warriors. She had the hand of an Hiero-Güç archer — one of few — and blew through the enemy ranks like lightening and never sank; every arrow coated with Ruhani marrow… Wave upon wave came, but we did save this region from this dark legion fallen from heaven to ill-leaven earth.”

And so it was, for a time, because of their heroism the people were free of the terrorism of the Watchers, who fled north with their booty of brides under deific chides. And as Metuşelah explained, this is when his great father, Henokh, was lost to the frost of the netherworld as angry ice still sliced the world. One day they were walking and talking, then the Voice called, and without choice his father was gone, never to be seen again; at least Henokh was not guilty of flight of fright. No! Henokh was beacon light to his people… After his “stepping out” to walk about the spirit world, Lemek was shortly born to adorn the absence of so great an Hiero-Güç leader, destined to imitate his grandfather in so many ways in coming days.

methuselah_syndrome_IanLomeThe lull in war was as always before,” Kheba intoned, chilling me to the bone. “Peace seems ever so elusive; that much is conclusive. The Watchers and whores bore their mutant offspring — worse curse of Dyēus — which enraged the Watchers, who then engaged in battle against Dyēus, the Tri-Mater, and all sons and daughters; his angelic host and every heavenly ghost — I well remember — while their mutilated children moved west, southwest to best humanity, engulfing them in unbelivable calamity, all to claim a home where they could freely roam.”

“During this peace, Avhnipaala died when she vied with one of her own,” Metuşelah picked up his cup and drank, then sank back into awful memory. “My beloved had no idea that Rhea had been bitten and, thus, smitten by one of the Watchers.” Metuşelah eyed me closely and could see… “Oh no … no, no my dear lad. The Watchers had beauty, hypnotic beauty.” He shook his head sadly and said, “And they took great care to keep up appearances to ensnare so many … and that they did in plenty, including Rhea.” Tears. Broken heart, the better part lost. “My dear Avhnipaala! She now walks the halls of Valhalla; I know, but how can I not show how much I long for her? After all, I belong by her side, and there to abide forever.”

“Ah Rhea!” Lemek rose in anger that knew no panacea. “She struck my dear mother from behind, and only with luck did find fatal spot for homemade blade! But Avhnipaala bested her! My mother invested Rhea’s headless corpse to the Abyss before she herself lie dying on cold, stone floor!” Lemek walked to and fro, ready to throw himself into bloody battle with all his might. “Yes, my mother was better archer and leader than father,” he bowed slightly toward Metuşelah, who lightly smiled and nodded head toward his beloved son, allowing Lemek to continue rampage begun. “And far, far better than her son or even — yes and I dare to say this day — her son’s wife; for on my very life, Tariqah said the same! Ah! Ah! Is this not so, divine Kheba? She loved my mother as her own mother; my mother loved Tariqah as her one and only daughter!”

Seduce3“Yes, my dear, dear Lemek,” Kheba clearly nodded and replied, while each of us inside felt the pain of losing wife and mother, and apparently without any gain. Metuşelah motioned for his son to come and sit for comfort, but Lemek had some more to say, to sort out … again, as so many times in the past, so this would last as long as need be, yet no one dared feed the fire of anger and remorse; we waited and listened while Lemek ran his course.

“She acted as spy, full of lies! Rhea was the incarnation of lies! And did she ever try, really try, to free herself of Watcher’s curse, to be nursed back to health of mind, body and soul? No! Divine Keba knows! Yes,” Lemek looked at Kheba, his voice shook. “You were with us! You were always true, and ever able and willing to heal… Ah! But Rhea was sister, right? Ha! Damn the bitch! Damn the Watcher’s witch! Tariqah was right to have Rhea immediately out of sight, taken to the uzak-yerde as blight, to rot on spot of rocks and eaten by the birds of hell that yell for such wickd meat? Ha! Why cheat them of such a meal? Surely there was much evil there for them to devour!”

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Avhnipaala  —  means “of warrior kings;” wife of Metuşelah

Crystalline  —  having the structure and form of a crystal; composed of crystals; lit. very clear

Ether  —  ancient: the upper regions of air beyond the clouds; archaic: a very rarefied and highly elastic substance formerly believed to permeate all space, including the interstices between the particles of matter, and to be the medium whose vibrations constituted light and other electromagnetic radiation; adjective, ethere

Hiero  —  prefix, sacred; holy

Hiero-Güç  —  holy (or sacred) power, strength, force, spirit, etc.

Ruh  —  spirit or divine power; adj. Ruhani, mean.  ethereal, disembodied, unworldly, immaterial

Tariqah  —  Means “morning star; victorious warrior; prosperous:” wife of Lemek

Uzak-Yerde  —  remote place; distanced from community/society

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Note: First illustration, “Dark Angel,” (recast as one of The Watchers) found at Wallpaper Abyss; Second illustration, “Methuselah Syndrome,” (obviously recast as one of the offspring of the Watchers) by Ian Lom as found on Deviant Art; Third illustration, “Black Hair Seductress Serana,” (recast as Rhea) as found on Google Plus Photos